


The Whole Pineapple

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: Psych, The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M, low-level uninformed hand-wavey crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: Jim and Blair, with a side discussion of Shawn and Carlton.





	The Whole Pineapple

**Author's Note:**

> Written for janedavitt.
> 
> Disclaimer 1) I've never actually seen Pysch, so this was written on a wing and a prayer  
> Disclaimer 2) The Pysch characters never actually appear in person  
> Disclaimer 3) Mismatched timeline? Absolutely! And with no explanation! :-))

"He likes pineapple."

" _I_ like pineapple, Jim." Blair dumped his bag of — pineapple-less, but only because they hadn't been on sale — groceries onto the counter next to the bag Jim had carried in, and started pulling out the canned stuff for Jim to put away.

"He's a fake."

That was too good to pass up and Blair put on his best wide-eyed _you're shitting me, right?_ expression. "You mean he's only _pretending_ to like pineapple?" he said, and grinned at the exasperated glance Jim gave him. "Anyway, Megan thinks _you're_ a psychic."

"Which was her idea, not mine," Jim responded, sounding a little vague as he contemplated the current stash of cans in the cabinet. Blair always expected Jim to whip out blueprints and calipers at grocery-putting-away time, or card indexes, or eyes-only military plans in some sort of disappearing-ink code; he'd given up on trying to follow the mysterious and disturbingly anal system Jim used for organizing the shelves in that cabinet about three weeks after he'd moved in with Jim. Or moved in _on_ him, depending on how you looked at it. "And I don't go around advertising it or acting like some kind of hyperactive drama queen, lying through my teeth about everything just for the hell of it," Jim added, his voice slightly sharper.

Blair gathered up the yogurt and milk and the wedge of Parmigiano Reggiano he'd talked Jim into splurging on and headed for the refrigerator, frowning. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with having energy, or with a little creative obfuscating from time to time."

"A _little_?"

"So he gets carried away; that's not the point. I'm just saying the psychic thing is a useful cover in your case, so maybe it's a useful cover in his case, too."

Jim snorted. "He's not a sentinel, Chief."

"But he could have other abilities he needs to keep under the radar. He _knows_ shit, Jim. You have to admit he was a big help on the task force."  
  
"He's not a cop any more than he's a sentinel."

"Okay, we're back to I like pineapple and _I'm_ not a cop either, and are you trying to tell me something here?" Blair abandoned the produce he was sorting through and turned to lean back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing Jim narrowly.

"You're not Spencer, Sandburg. I can put up with working with you and living with _you_. Him — he'd have gone missing the first week and nobody would've ever found the body."

"'Put up with' — that's nice, Jim."

Jim placed the two new cans of Roma tomatoes onto their appointed shelf with obvious care and rotated one of them until the label was lined up to his apparent satisfaction. Then he turned and locked eyes with Blair, and suddenly he was standing close enough to Blair for the T-shirt that was stretched so effectively across his chest to be brushing against Blair's forearms. He leaned in and down, his mouth close to Blair's ear. "Live with, work with, put up with. Fuck with."

"Dick," Blair muttered. He unfolded his arms and slid one hand down Jim's chest to cup the front of Jim's jeans in illustration.

"Always," Jim said into Blair's ear.

Which, no matter how you looked at it, was true, even if it didn't do much towards getting the rest of the groceries put away.

\--------------------------------------------

Blair bent over to pick up his Henley from the floor. Unfortunately, his boxers weren't hiding beneath it. He sighed and sat down on the coffee table, which felt a little chilly, under the circumstances. "You remember what happened to my shorts?" he asked Jim, who was still sprawled on the couch with his eyes closed, poster boy for extremely well-satisfied lassitude.

"You can't be serious," Jim answered, his voice as relaxed as his body. "Did you try the kitchen?"

"My jeans are in here, under the chair; how can my boxers be in the kitchen?" Blair asked, but absently. 'Lassitude' — why did that sound so… Oh. "Look, I _know_ I'm right, Jim; forget the pineapple and the not a cop stuff. Shawn would be _good_ for him."

Jim groaned. "Spencer, again? Why the hell are we talking about Spencer again? And good for who? There can't be anybody alive Spencer would be good for."

"For who?" Blair repeated, staring at Jim, who still had his eyes closed although he didn't look quite as relaxed as he had a moment ago. "Carlton. Detective Bad Attitude. Don't tell me you can't see it."

"See what?" Jim opened his eyes. "I can see Spencer being good at turning every police investigation he's involved with into a three-ring…" He trailed off, grimacing. "Oh, for God's sake. 'Good for him' — you're matchmaking? You're out of your mind. He'd drive Lassiter into an early grave or Lassiter'd kill him in sheer self-defense. I'd give it 24 hours tops before the Santa Barbara force would be looking for at least one D.B."

Blair frowned at Jim. "No way. Yin and yang; they'd balance each other out. Shawn would loosen Carlton up, Carlton would…okay, 'tighten Shawn up' isn't exactly the phrase I'm looking for here, but I think —"

"Hold on a minute, Chief. Lassiter's a decent cop; he doesn't need to be Suzy Sunshine."

"It wouldn't hurt for him to be a little happier, Jim; there's some serious stick-up-the-ass stuff going on with him. And there are major sparks between him and Shawn — you saw the way he shoved Shawn up against the wall in the hallway outside the bullpen; tell me that's not chemistry." Blair narrowed his eyes as Jim shook his head. Before Jim could start listing all the various criminals he'd manhandled at one point or another without wanting to fuck them, he added, "Let me rephrase that. Don't tell me you weren't feeling it when you slammed me against the wall that first day in my office. _Chemistry_ , man."

"I was feeling like you were some kind of con-artist punk trying to pull my leg and I wanted to put you through that wall, not just shove you against it."

Blair raised his eyebrows and waited. After a couple of moments Jim's lips quirked. "And I also wanted to fuck you through the wall." He waggled his index finger beckoningly at Blair. "Look for your shorts later."

"You can't be ready for a replay already," Blair said with a pointed glance at the relaxed curl of Jim's cock, but he got up from the coffee table anyway and sat down on the couch next to Jim's hip after Jim shifted to make more room.

"Ye of little faith," Jim said mildly. "But I was just wanting to do this, for now." He pulled Blair down to lie on the couch with him, his back against Jim's chest and Jim's arms around him.

Blair smiled as Jim nuzzled the back of his head. Chemistry — mind-blowing, still completely mind-blowing chemistry — and this. Yin and yang. Balance. "The whole pineapple," he said, more to himself than to Jim.

Jim's martyred sigh ruffled his hair. "Don't tell me you're talking about Spencer again," Jim said. "Can't we forget about Spencer? He's back in California by now, anyway, unless Lassiter got fed up enough with him to push him out of the plane somewhere over the Sierras, and I for one wouldn't blame Lassiter at all for doing it."

"They _would_ be good together. But —" That was as much as Blair got out before Jim's hand came up to cover his mouth, and he laughed against Jim's palm. "Enchilada," he said muffledly, "the whole enchilada. Does that make you happy?"

"Ecstatic," said Jim, removing his hand from Blair's mouth. Blair could hear the smile in his voice. It sounded like one of his more reluctant ones, but it was there.

_Good together._ If Carlton hadn't thrown Shawn out of the plane and they'd both made it back home, maybe the two of them would figure out their own version of good together. If it was even half as good as this —

"Stop thinking about Spencer," Jim said against Blair's hair. One of his hands eased its way down Blair's chest and a finger started a slow circle around his navel. Jim's other hand apparently had similar ideas about one of Blair's nipples, and Blair angled his head back a little, on the theory it might tempt Jim into a little accompanying ear and neck work. _So good_... "Spencer who?" he asked, as he felt Jim's lips touch the edge of his ear.


End file.
